Thursday, March 13, 2008

Last night I had a nightmare that I was nearly raped. I woke up, terrified, the fear pounding in my bones. A reoccurring nightmare, I once dreamed dreams like this several nights a month until I sought a counselor's perspective. Through guided discussion, we talked about the possibilities of what rape meant and why, in every dream, I am running from White men, sometimes white face masks.

After careful and guided confrontation of my fears, the nightmares began to slowly fade. Still, once in a few months, a new nightmare will surge with new faces, a new path for me to run and fresh symbolism for me to consider.

This poem was inspired/resulting from one of my nightmares, this one dreamed last night. I dedicate this poem to the womyn who survive rape both in their sleep and when awake.

"Rape In My Dreams"In my dreams,I am winded from being chased.I witness a brother gunned down,and I fall to the earth.

The men stand over meI look upTheir monstrous featuresenjoy my understandingthat they could- if they merely desire to -hold my wrists to the earthand overpower merape mekill me

In my dream, there was no river.Only earth- the soil I fell upon -and the certainty I carriedthat it would cover my bodyonce they were done with me

In my dream, they made me run from themto further their gameof wolf and cat,I couldn’t outrun them.

I dash into a worn old housefilled with peopleand scream.I scream about my bodyand the strangling ink.Noonebelievesme.

They offer me a wooden stooland tell me to sit on it,“Pretend it’s not happening.If you show that you are scared,then they will find you,”Do not show who you really are.

One monster entershis hands were all over me asthe others vanished.Descending into darkness,I wondered why I was born at allWhy had I fought so hard for other thingsand no one, in the end, would fight for meWhy had I spent my life protecting lawsthat had no chance of protecting me-

In my dreams, my skin was DarkerSofter, Smoothand the flesh of the men were gleaming white,their pasty skin damp and unwashed

I fight -break loose -run outside -I see my mother and fatherwith shovels, digging into the earth./I am in a landfill of garbage/“This is our home,” their eyes tell me.Their backs are near broken fromTrying to dig home.

The taste of blood leaksin the back of my throat.I scream into the earth.

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